


Good morning

by femmenerd



Category: Harry Potter RPF
Genre: F/M, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-14
Updated: 2007-09-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:35:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1193781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmenerd/pseuds/femmenerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She could teach this one some things.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good morning

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this rumour](http://www.celebwarship.com/wp/?p=2050), and my feminism. See also: the song ["What Katie Did"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JbSPN074Tgs) by _the Libertines._
> 
> And if you like this story/pairing, check out [this story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/234594) by [honey_wheeler](http://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler) featuring Rupert's ice cream van!
> 
> Originally posted on LJ [here.](http://femmenerd.livejournal.com/264156.html)

She is no longer impressed with the condition of being famous. He behaves as though he doesn’t know that he is.

*

She wakes up the next morning with a boy in her bed. A boy the English-speaking world and beyond knows as Ron Weasley. He’d introduced himself the night before shyly–redundantly–as Rupert, voice slow, beery and sweet.

Half-asleep and rumpled, skin whiter than her sheets–he looks innocent in a way she wonders if she ever was. Eighteen, he’s eighteen. Legal. 

For her, it’s only been five long years since then.

* 

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, flushing pink with pleasure or embarrassment–she couldn’t tell which.

She cocked a nearly invisible eyebrow, translucent and blondish like his own, and said,“The booze at this party is free, y’know.”

“Well then, can I fetch you one?”

She surprised herself, and smiled. 

*

He blinks and says, “Mornin,’” and she strips the covers off, pounces. 

“You’ve a lovely cock,” she says truthfully, and goes for it straight away. 

He blushes down to his neck and blows upwards at an errant strip of ginger hair which flops up and lands back precariously over his eyes.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, and looks down to where she’s handling him, fascinated. 

He’s thick, blunt. Not particularly long, but it’s a man’s prick there between his legs. She licks her palm and wraps it round, but doesn’t go up and down yet, just a light squeeze. Good morning. 

His nostrils flare out when she looks up. His eyes are bleery, wide and blue. Astonished, even though she did this to him–and more–last night.

Her other hand goes lower, fingering soft curls the color of the hair on her own head. The color that would be on her cunt too, underneath her arms–if she didn’t shave it all away every few days.

She strokes lightly in the crease between furry leg and heavy balls. The skin on his belly is pale and smooth. She kisses it once, lips closed, before extending her tongue to the tip of his knob. Licks the underside, teasing the bundle of nerves there. He leaks salty-wet onto her lips.

“Oh! Oh shite!” he rasps as she bobs down with suction, pistoning her head. 

Her tits sway beneath her as she works, arse in the air. Standing up she’s as tall as he is, definitely bigger around in some places. But she doesn’t mind feeling substantial, healthy in her hips.

Three years ago her body was wasted down, all for love of a man who fed her drugs and desperation, then wrote a song with her name in the title as penance. Rupert doesn’t know about that s’far as she knows, but if _this_ continues past today, the bloody papers will tell him all right.

She doesn’t want that song to be her epitaph. Doesn’t want this lovely boy to think she’s just a warmed over rocker slag and nothing more. Something tells her though that he wouldn’t, so she sucks harder, swirling her tongue around the head of his pretty cock until he groans.

“I’m gonna...”

And he does, warm down her throat. She feels triumphant and tender. Then she swallows. 

Good morning. 

*

He pulls yesterday’s T-shirt off her floor and over his head. She sits up in bed, still naked like Lady Godiva, and watches as he crosses the room barefoot to check out her guitar.

“That’s wicked,” he murmurs. “That you’re in a band. Very cool.” _Yeah_ , she thinks, _It is_. 

He pulls his jeans on after his shorts, looks back across the room at her and grins, crooked and pink-lipped.

“What’s your favorite kind of music?” she asks, lazily plucking at the nipple-tip of one of her tits. 

He gulps, answering swiftly but not at all. “I dunno, really.”

She laughs merrily and pulls him back down to the bed. 

She could teach this one some things. She thinks she could maybe give him better than she got.


End file.
